Chapter IV.

All this while, everything was pursuing its usual course at the farm of Bois-de-Chênes. Yegof's strange behavior was almost forgotten, and war was for the time unthought of. Old Duchene, while Hullin plodded back, was driving his cattle home, the herdsman Robin spreading the straw on which they were to rest, and Annette and Jeanne were skimming the daily tribute of their dairy. Catherine Lefevre alone, silent and gloomy, mused over what had passed, as she superintended the work of her people. She was too old, too grave, to so soon forget events which had agitated her so strongly. At nightfall, after the evening repast, she entered the large kitchen where the farm-servants awaited her, and there took down her register and placed it upon the table, ready, as was her wont, to regulate the accounts of the day.

It might have been half-past seven, when footsteps were heard at the gate. The watch-dog sprang forward growling, listened for a moment, sniffed the air, and then quietly returned to his bone.

"It is some one belonging to the farm," said Annette; "Michel knows him."

At the same moment old Duchene exclaimed:

"Good-evening, Master Jean-Claude! You are back."

"Yes--from Phalsbourg, and I will remain here a few moments to rest before going to the village. Is Catherine at home?"

"She is within," replied Duchene. And brave Jean-Claude entered into the bright light, his broad hat drawn over his eyes, and the roll of sheepskin upon his shoulder.

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"Good-evening, my children," said he, "good-evening. Always at work, I see."

"Yes, Monsieur Hullin," answered Jeanne, laughing. "If we had nothing to do, life would be tiresome indeed."

"True, my dear, true. There is nothing like work for giving rosy cheeks and shining eyes."

Jeanne was about to reply when the door opened, and Catherine Lefevre advanced into the room. She cast an anxious glance on Hullin, as if to divine beforehand the news he was bringing.

"Well, Jean-Claude, you have returned."

"Yes, Catherine, and with good and ill tidings."

"Let us have them!" exclaimed she, presenting a seat to the sabot-maker, as he deposited his roll upon the table.

"Well, the news from Gaspard is good; the boy is well, although he has had a hard time of it; so much the better--hardship strengthens youth. But the war goes badly, badly!"

He shook his head as he spoke, and the old woman, seating herself in her arm-chair directly in front of him, fixed her eyes upon his.

"Then the allies are in France; the war is to be brought home to us?"

"Yes, Catherine; we may any day expect to see the enemy in our mountains."

"I feared it--I was sure of it--but go on, Jean-Claude."

Hullin, in a low voice, proceeded to relate all he had seen and heard; he told of the works around the city, the proclamation of the state of siege, the wagons loaded with wounded on the Place d'Armes, and his meeting with the old sergeant. From time to time he paused, and the old lady half-closed her eyes, as if graving his words upon her memory, and when Hullin spoke of the wounded she gasped:

"But Gaspard has escaped?"

At the end of the sabot-maker's sorrowful story there was a long pause. How many bitter thoughts were burning in the minds of both! At last Catherine broke the silence:

"You see, Jean-Claude," said she, "Yegof was right."

"He was right," replied Jean-Claude, "but what does that prove? It would, indeed, be astonishing if a fool--wandering, as he does, everywhere, from village to village--in Alsace, in Lorraine--saw nothing, heard nothing; and if he should not occasionally utter a truth in the midst of his nonsense. Everything is mingled in his head, and you imagine you understand what he does not understand himself. But enough of the fool, Catherine. The Austrians are coming, and the question is whether we shall let them pass quietly through our mountains, or defend ourselves like mountaineers."

"Defend ourselves!" cried the old woman, her pale cheeks flushing. "Think you we have lost the courage of our fathers? Did not the blood of their men, women, and children flow like water, and no one think of yielding?"

"Then you are for defence, Catherine?"

"Ay! while a drop of blood remains in my body. Let them come. The old woman will be in their path."

Her long, gray hair in her excitement seemed to quiver upon her head; her cheeks trembled and glowed, and her eyes flashed fire. She seemed even full of a fierce beauty--of a beauty like that of Margareth of whom Yegof spoke. Hullin stretched his hand to her in silence.

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"I knew you, Catherine," said he with enthusiasm; "I knew your true heart. But we must look calmly at what is before us. We shall fight, but how? Where are our munitions?"

"Everywhere! axes, scythes, pitchforks--"

"Yes, yes; but muskets and bullets are the best. Muskets we have; every mountaineer's cottage has one hanging over the door; but where is our powder? where are our bullets?"

The old woman became suddenly calm; she pushed back her hair beneath her cap, and looked around thoughtfully.

"Yes," she replied; "we lack powder and ball, it is true, but we shall have them. Marc-Dives the smuggler has plenty. You will see him for me to-morrow, and tell him that Catherine Lefevre will buy all that he has, and pay for it too; yes, though it cost her house, lands, and cattle--all she possesses. Do you understand, Hullin?"

"I do. This is splendid, Catherine!"

"Splendid! Bah! To drive from our doors those Austrians, those Prussians, the red-bearded race who once already all but exterminated ours! They are our mortal foes! You will buy the powder, and the wretches will see whether their old castles are to be rebuilt by us!"

Hullin saw that Yegof's story yet preyed upon her mind, but he said simply:

"Then it is understood. I go to Marc-Dives's to-morrow?"

"Yes," replied Catherine; "and you will buy all his powder and lead. You must also go to all the villages in the mountains, to warn our people of the danger and agree upon a signal to be used in case of attack."

"Rest easy as to that," said Jean-Claude; "it shall be my care."

Both had risen and turned toward the door. For half an hour past the noise in the kitchen had ceased; the people of the farm had retired. The old woman placed her lamp on the chimney-shelf and drew the bolts. The cold without was sharp, but the air clear and still. The peaks around, and the fires on the Jaeger that stood out against the dark-blue sky in masses of silver or jet, and no sound broke the quiet save the short bark of a far-off fox.

"Good-night, Hullin," said the old woman.

"Good-night, Catherine."

Jean-Claude walked rapidly down the heath-covered slope, and his late hostess, after following him for a few moments with her eyes, closed the door.

I must leave you to imagine the joy of Louise when she learned that her Gaspard was safe. Hullin was careful not to mar her joy by a view of the dark cloud rising upon its horizon. All night he heard her talking to herself in her little chamber, murmuring the name of Gaspard, and opening drawers and boxes to find tokens he had left.

Thus does the linnet, unmindful of the coming storm, sing in the fast-receding sunshine.